Writer's Block
by Sushi Shea
Summary: 'Dumb blinking black thing, why won't you make words? ' Michelangelo struggles with the bane of all writers. First place winner in the 2011 Stealthy Stories Fanfiction Competition for "Best Michelangelo Scene".


Writer's Block

A fanfiction by S.S.S

**Summary:** ' Dumb blinking black thing, why won't you make words? ' Michelangelo struggles with the bane of all writers.

Michelangelo wasn't quite understanding his own thought process at the moment; Normally, it only took him a mere second to dive into his mind and dig out an interesting story whenever he needed one, so _why_ was it failing him now? If he could easily summon a truly epic excuse (pardon, "_tale_") referring to, for instance, how else his chicken pox had gotten redder if he hadn't scratched them (miniature evil blood wizards from the forty fifth dimension of post apocalyptic Switzerland) or why he had wandered off during a night on the town and only came back the morning afterward (rouge foot ninja representing the broken souls of pizza delivery men that happened to resent his hate for anchovies) why couldn't he summon the same creative powers that had leapt to his aid then?

The thin, black cursor blinking rhythmically on the blank page of the document he had opened seemed to mock him and his unproductive mind. He couldn't help but wonder if it enjoyed lingering on the computer screen without company, the center of his attention. He bit his lip and narrowed his eyes at it, leaning over the office desk in half hope that inspiring words would fill the white void if he willed it to do so. No such luck, he supposed after a few minutes in Miracle Land. Perhaps karma was punishing him even further for his faulty rouge foot ninja lie he created; because of said lie, he was now forced to sit in silence under the demeaning status of "Solidly grounded ", as Donatello had cruelly reminded him when he expressed his desire to accompany them to the rooftops of New York.

So, when he ran out of video games to replay, comics to re-read and television reruns to watch, he felt the strangest urge to write. What he wanted to write, however, remained to be seen, he just felt the need to do so. Besides, it was the only thing that was keeping him from relieving the pantry of Cheetos out of sheer boredom.

He was sure that all he needed was a few words, just a few striking terms to boot the gears in his brain. Perhaps a simple exercise...

Of course! That was the answer! He would write down any random words he could think of on whim without pause or consideration. Afterward, he could read them over and decide on a subject. Surely then he would have a subject to write about! Hunching slightly over the keys, he began to type. It wasn't long before the entire page of the document had one word per double-spaced line. There was no need to overwhelm himself with them; this was enough to consider.

He frowned, slowly shaking his head as his gaze moved across the monitor; he couldn't help but to be disappointed with the words he had managed to come up with. Among the list was couch, mustache, superman, anchovies, Cheetos and dumb-blinking-black-thing-why-won't-you-make-useful-words. Sure, the last one had been added out of frustration at the last minute, but that didn't change the fact that it was about as productive as "coffee table" was.

Okay, so he couldn't make his own inspiring words. It was no big deal at all; that's what the internet was invented for! His gaze kept locked on the computer screen, he reached to the side to grasp the mouse, guided the arrow to the small 'e' symbol in the corner and opened the web-browser. In the Google search-bar in the corner, he typed "writing prompt generator". A few moments after hitting the enter key, there were at least ten considerable options. After trying the generator at the bottom of the page several times and considering the concept of shooting the creator an email suggesting that they rename it "Cryptic and confusing philosophical meanings generator", he decided on the third web page above it.

This link brought him to a simple white page with a blank text bar and a button that read "generate list ". Good enough; he didn't need anything fancy, just a few ideas.

He decided to take the first four of results to begin with. After clicking the button the approximate number of times, he had the following to work with:

"A jar of peanut butter, a bowl of strawberries, and someone's grandmother. " Michelangelo made a face. He was unable to find the literary appeal in any of these terms, unless this "someone's grandmother" was a ninja, which he couldn't help but imagine as something rather disgusting.

"A glass of root beer, a poem, and a zucchini squash. " He could never learn to like anything with the word "squash" in it. He would not be able to stomach anything with "squash" in any way, shape, or form. This was an immediate no.

"New Jersey, an old car, and an unwanted phone call. " This one sounded eerily similar to something that happened yesterday. Eager to forget it, he scrapped this prompt as well.

The fourth prompt frightened him to the point of closing his browser.

That was it; he was frustrated beyond belief, and the extended time spent staring at the screen was beginning to give his head a horrible ache. He leaned back, closing his eyes and spinning idly in the swiveling office chair. It was almost unbelievable; he couldn't come up with his own inspiration for a story, and an automatic generator couldn't create one for him, so what was he supposed to try now? He was trying his best to churn one out, even the smallest idea, but nothing productive was coming out of it! All he could think about now was his stupid writer's block, no matter how hard he tried to curve it. It was as if his mind was set on-

Suddenly , the terrapin sat up, his eyes widening as something clicked in his head. That was it. It was right in front of his face the entire time, and he had never realized it. It was perfect subject to write about; he knew everything about it after all, happening time and time again with whatever he set his mind to. It would be easy and natural, almost like breathing.

Grinning at the brilliance of the moment, he leaned over the keyboard once more. Why hadn't he seen it before? It no longer mattered; the sudden urge to write would soon be satiated by this one, simple idea.

With a feeling of self satisfaction, he murmured the first line out loud as he typed it.

"Michelangelo wasn't quite understanding his own thought process at the moment..."


End file.
